Aphotic Solo
by saiki.kensuke.yuuta
Summary: Purely Ryuichi centric. No real plot, just a small darkfic on how I percieve Ryuichi's character. First Gravi fic ever! Please read and review!


Author's Note: This fic is definetly remaining a one-shot. **First ever Gravitation fic.**Enjoy!

**I would really appreciate feedback and reviews.** Be as harsh or as gentle as you'd like. I may not have posted anything in a long while, but I'm not new to writing, so I guess my being rusty is hardly an excuse. I'd appreciate it all the same. Flames are also good as long as they are constructive and have some kind of basis and truth to them.

Disclaimer: I do not own Gravitation or any of its characters.

Warnings: Angst and drama.

Pairing: No pairing, Ryuichi-centric.

Fic Note: No real plot, just a small darkfic.

**Aphotic Solo**

Very few knew what was under his smile. Shuichi and the others would catch glimpses of it, and so would the members of Nittle Grasper. He wasn't even sure if anyone even had a really solid idea of what he was like, but he assumed that Touma was the closest in knowing. Knew about what he was really like, and knew why he was so great at singing. His voice was the echo of all his inner pains and sufferings. Things he would share with his audience, and they would probably never know. To have fans sing along with him made him ecstatic. He knew they would probably never understand, but he would pretend, for that one hour on stage he would just pretend that they knew what the words really meant. He would pretend that they sympathized with him.

The fans that would come up to him backstage would always sicken him. He knew they wouldn't care so much if they knew what his past was like, if he knew what his personality had been-someone who was trying so hard to belong. He showed those people up; the people from his past. They were all living middle-class jobs, or lives of stressful politicians or something of that sort, while he was living the life that most people would kill for. Sure there always was the annoying stalkers and the fraudulent stories printed in the tabloids, but unlike most artists, this meant nothing to him. It didn't phaze him in the slightest. He could never be any happier than he was now. There were times where he felt like slamming everything down to complain and cry, but then he would always remind himself of how bad it used to be, and he would no longer feel sad anymore. The world gave him a gift to pay for all his past suffering, he wasn't about to turn it away.

Every once in a while, Shuichi made him crack a bitter smile in place of his happy-go-lucky one. How happy the boy was, and how similar they appeared to be-on the surface. It would sometimes annoy him how ungrateful Shuichi appeared to be. Relationships have their ups and downs, there was never a rule on how perfect relationships are supposed to go. And yet, Shuichi usually won him over. He knew someone whose smiles were really smiles. Who seemed to love and keep on loving, no matter how many times he was pushed away or hurt.

The boy had qualities he had long since forgotten.

No one ever knew about his past, and he would like to keep it that way. No one cared when he wanted people to care, and he was glad people weren't caring enough to dig around for it. It was something he wanted to keep veiled now. Pity was the last thing he wanted. He wanted only smiles and laughter and praise from now on. Things he had lacked. Things that people now gave him.

He was never asked about life behind the curtain. All the world seemed to know about him, was the fact that he had come out of nowhere, with a beautiful voice. A voice that people could only dream of matching. People would praise Shuichi and all, but they were only preparing him to take the place of _his _voice. No matter how much Bad Luck would be praised, or how much Shuichi himself would be praised, Shuichi and the others would always feel a void. They would never understand and probably never be able to grasp the mystery behind the art.

A secret he would never expose, even if given time.

He was glad to have met Shuichi and the members of Bad Luck, this he would never deny. However, he knew that the power of his music was behind his mask, behind his pain and sad history.

_A knock on the door._

He got up, preparing for the moment. His outfit on and ready.

_"Um...Ryuichi-sama?"_

Shuichi. "Hai, _Shuichi_..." his voice seemed like it was coming from somewhere else. Where was his voice?

_"Touma-san wanted me to remind you that you are going to be on-stage soon...in about fifteen minutes..."_

Some days it frustrated him. Some days, his body and voice and soul just didn't seem to want to sing. It would be an ongoing battle for him. Even if people praised that particular performance, he would always remind himself with distaste that the only thing the audience had been hearing was his fighting with himself, his _frustration_.

_The figure by the door was fidgeting a bit nervously due to the lack of response from the musician._

He simply stared back at the pink-haired boy shadowed by the hallway. He found himself smiling a half-smile, almost seemingly cocky-but in reality a sarcastic smile of mild amusment. This boy would never understand. Hell, _none _of them would _ever _understand.

_"Um..."_

The empty bottles of wine smashed all over the ground. The days he had drunk himself silly. The life he had led, especially in high-school; pushing everyone away and then realizing that they were what he needed-but by the time the realization came he was completely shut out, ridiculed and ignored. The days he spent by his bed-ridden father. The nights he had spent consoling his nearing-insane mother. The family that had shunned him for appearing a hopeless cause. Too _overdramatic_ for them. Too _needy _for them. Too _talkative _and _happy _for them.

Sometimes he envied this pink-haired boy in front of him. To even get Touma and someone so cold like Yuki to love and accept him. People that he himself had to work so _damn hard_ to get. _So _damn hard.

But so what, right? Why should he complain? He has _no right _to complain. _No right_. Because he has everything now. Everything he could ever dream of, except for true family, friends, love and respect. All only temporary. If they knew where he had come from, if they knew his roots they would turn away. Perhaps not Shuichi at first, but he had known many people like that boy. He remembered too painfully well. Even _they _ended up getting so far and distant from him.

_"Ryuichi...sama?" the boy bent down to look at his watch then look back up with a nervous smile, "Uh...five minutes..."_

"Hai, hai..." he heard his tired and detached voice.

He felt himself get up. He must've startled the innocent boy because he had thrown off his headphones and wiped off the whole desk with one rash movement, causing things to shatter and papers to flutter and fly. He bent over and gripped the sides of the table, finding himself laughing a strange laugh. He didn't care who was watching or who he was scaring anymore. It was all too funny, really. Just _rich_. No matter what God seemed to grant him, he was neither a winner nor a loser. He had it "all", but not the right _kind _of "all" he had been searching for his entire life.

All he had asked for, prayed by his bedside every night was to have someone grip him tightly by the shoulders and shake him, telling him everything was going to be all right. That _he _was doing well. That _he _was _loved _and he was doing _all right_.

Ironic, it all was really. He was loved, by fans who barely knew anything more than the mere basics. He was constantly told everything was going to be all right by Touma, whenever the guy seemed to sense his panic, his sadness. He was told he was doing well and all right for himself by so many faces and reporters. But none of it was personal.

It was _never _personal.

Perhaps, he realized in hindsight, he should have prayed for that _personal_. But it was just too late now. Nothing would fill his void except being able to express it in song. That was all he lived on anymore. Each day, singing-preparing for the suicide to come after the day he loses his voice completely-which of course doesn't appear anytime soon. His life-a blessing and a curse all the same, rolled in one.

He didn't believe in God anymore. There was no _God_. "God" _loves _and _cares _for people. Perhaps he exists and loves and cares for others in this world, but God just wasn't for Ryuichi. God left Ryuichi Sakuma alone. Ryuichi would always be hated, admired, forgotten, just not worth remembering, or remembered for all the wrong reasons.

_A soft and soothing voice, "Are you all right...?"_

He felt a his stupid face coming. He felt that huge and fake grin plastered all over his face as he gave the pink-haired boy before him a wink and a thumbs-up sign before walking out of the room. Two words that are a complete lie. The perfect prelude to the truth. _His _truth.

"Just. Fine."

He was ready to perform. He knew how this would go. In just two minutes, barely making it onto stage-just like always. He would find himself in the dark, ready for the spotlight to light on him, warming the back of his neck. In two seconds the music would start, and he would find himself getting lost in the beat. Memories would surface somewhere, certain beats reminding him strongly of a bad memory or two for some reason. _That _would be his fuel.

His fans, Shuichi-they will all look upon him in awe as he slowly lifts his head, then start dancing about stage in utter grace and perfection. Singing words that meant far more than what people would think they heard. Discussing afterward the ingenious of an art they already missed the gist of.

No matter how much pain laced with his words, no matter how strongly or weak he would sing, and no matter how ugly he made it sound-they would never get it. The cheers in the crowd would be just as loud. No matter how strangely he would act before a performance, causing his fellow bandmates or members of Bad Luck some concern, a flash of a happy smile and a wild performance would always erase the strange unsettling feeling they got from his actions. They would always forget that it even happened. They would choose to ignore and simply "tuck away" the pain they viewed, the eerie flicker in Ryuichi's eye.

_The crowd was cheering loudly for him, as he was starting his last number. He was already hearing the whines of why the performance had to end so soon._

During his performances, Ryuichi would sometimes contemplate death. What if he were to just simply die right this moment? Perhaps he would be talked about. Perhaps _then _they would dig back into the past and realize how messed up he _really _was. Maybe his funeral will be the biggest turnout in history, maybe the smallest. Perhaps he would be written down in a book or magazine, and talked about for generations-negative _or _positive connotation. Or he might just even simply be forgotten, no matter what the case. Forgotten quickly or painfully slowly.

The bottom line, he always felt was, it didn't matter.

_They were all screaming with appreciation. He had done it yet again. Another "beautiful" and "Oscar-worthy" performance. He forced himself to take a bow and flash that smile that the world seemed to care so much for before heading off backstage to his beloved personal room, where he spent most of his time. He would get ready to go to the recording room. He would continue to flash a few more of those "smiles" before then._

_Funny how people love the frauds in life. He couldn't wait to get out of there. He was so disappointed. He didn't know why he even expected them to understand this particular performance, when no one seemed to be able to grasp his message the last hundred times he had gone up there, on the black, glistening stage. The kind of stage people like Shuichi, even Touma would just die to be on, just because he was the generation prodigy and he had, at one time, been on it. _

He would continue to sing his strains of sadness and pain. For every depressing beat he would force out a laugh or a smile. For every questioning glance he would put up an act for the whole world to become satisfied that he was not yet going down the drain. For every declaration of praise, respect and love, he would simply just thank the person with half a heart. He would remain a confusing persona that no one would be able to, or even care to understand even after death.

In the end, he had decided to himself a long time ago, Ryuichi would always be Ryuichi.

Whatever _that _means.

OWARI

Saiki.Kensuke.Yuuta: Sooo...what did you all think of my first ever Gravi fic? I just decided to give it a shot. Ryuichi is my FAVORITE character in that entire series! **Feedback and reviews sooo appreciated!** I love to hear from my readers so much! Sorry if he seemed OOC, I just wanted to delve a bit deeper past his intriguing personality, because sometimes he made me wonder...ya know?

Well, hope it was a good read!


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